


Calm and Collected

by sabinelagrande



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, Facials, First Time, M/M, Pampering, Phil Coulson Is a Good Bro, Service Top, Sub Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come hell or high water, Clint is coming down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm and Collected

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Calm and Collected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138375) by [Silmary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silmary/pseuds/Silmary)



The mission, as far as these things go, is neither good nor bad. The goal is achieved, though it's not the prettiest work they've ever done. Phil is running the show, coordinating units instead of individual agents, but it's still not particularly surprising when Clint calls him to get final approval on the final killshot; it's practically SOP at this point.

Phil steps into the mobile ready room, which is mostly just a U-Haul with some lockers and hangers in it, and Clint is pulling off his gear, very firmly not looking at the only other person inside, his handler for this mission. Phil has come in on the tail end of a conversation, and it must be heated, given the fact that it doesn't stop when he walks in. 

He's got a tendency to kill chatter.

"You could at least do me the courtesy of pretending like you're going to do what I say when I say to do it," the agent says.

Phil can practically see Clint's hackles raise. "I took the shot. The shot was taken. I didn't miss. We're done here."

"We can't ever get you to follow orders without Coulson riding herd on you," the agent says, exasperated. "He's got some kind of special Barton-wrangling skills that the rest of us don't."

Clint slams his locker door, hard enough that the agent jumps. "You know what?" he says tightly. "Even if that is true, it's my own motherfucking business. I did the fucking job. You can all get off my fucking back."

The agent blinks, watching Clint go; he looks up, seemingly noticing Phil for the first time, and he has the good sense to look sheepish. "I knew he was pissed, but I think I just stepped on a landmine."

"Think you did," Phil says blandly.

"What the hell was that all about?" he asks, and he sounds more than a little like he thinks there's gossip to be had.

Phil slides his sunglasses on. "That's between Specialist Barton and God, agent," he says, climbing out of the trailer. Phil is damn well going to find out.

\--

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Clint says, standing in front of Phil's desk. He's clearly not going to sit down, clearly ready to get the fuck out of there just as soon as he can.

Phil walks around to sit on the edge of his desk, facing him. "I'd like to know what's going on, Barton."

"Wouldn't we all," Clint says sarcastically.

Phil raises an eyebrow at him. "You're not going to give me that."

"Just did," Clint says, making to turn away.

"Let me rephrase that," Phil says, grabbing him by his shoulder and turning Clint back around to face him. "I'm not going to take it. You're a wreck, Barton. What do you need? I'll give you anything you want, but you have to name it. Do you need me to fuck you? Do you need me to smack you around? Do you need me to order you around?" There's a look on Clint's face just then that tells Phil he's hit it right. "Clint, I made a promise when I took you on. I don't do that lightly."

"Stop acting like we're fucking married, Coulson," Clint says, tearing his arm away. "Leave me the fuck alone."

"Tried that," Phil says. "Didn't work."

Clint gives him a look, a very familiar and usually dangerous one, the one where Clint is about to go all in, damn the torpedoes. More than once Phil's seen that look on his face before jumping off a building, and he's not sure how much he likes it in this situation. "Yes."

"Yes what?" Phil asks.

"Yes," Clint says. "To all of it." He smiles, trying to look nonchalant and not doing a particularly good job. "Come on, Coulson. I'm stressed. Help a guy out."

"Kneel," Phil says sharply. Clint looks shocked when he says it, but he looks like he's even more shocked when he actually does it. "You're going to tell me everything you don't want me to do to you."

Clint looks at him in confusion. "I don't know."

"Do you want me to hit you in the face?" Phil offers.

Clint recoils. "Christ, no."

"Things like that," Phil explains. "I'm not asking about sex. You'll do what I want there."

"I didn't think I had to say not to hit me in the goddamn face," Clint says. He thinks for a moment. "No belts. I don't think I want you to tie me up or handcuff me or any of that stuff. Don't-" He pauses. "I have a lot of scars," he says, sounding apologetic.

Phil nods. "Do you want me to stay away?"

"If you can," Clint says. "I mean, you're gonna have a real hard time fucking me if you don't touch any of them, but don't _stare_."

"Noted," Phil says. "Anything else?"

Clint shuts his eyes briefly before he speaks. "I used to hear I was worthless a lot."

Phil's glad to hear the past tense in that sentence, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. "You're not worthless," he says firmly. "Clint, if I think you've done wrong, you're going to answer for it. But you're not bad, and you won't be bad for me. Will you?"

Clint shakes his head. "No, sir."

"Good," Phil says, running his hand over Clint's hair. "You'll be very good."

"And when I'm not?" Clint asks. "Because we both know that's gonna happen."

"Do it enough, and this ends," Phil says firmly. "I'd never punish you for something that's not your fault, but if you're wilfully disobedient, whether or not I'm there, I'm going to know, and you're going to catch hell. I'm doing this because I think you want to be good. If I'm wrong about that, then there's the door."

Clint gives him a skeptical look. "I don't know if you know, sir, but I'm known to be a brat."

"When was the last time you ignored your handler's instructions?" Phil asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"Um," Clint says, looking chagrined. "Last week."

"Why did you do it?" Phil says.

"Because the shot wasn't clear," Clint says, slipping into a businesslike tone. "Civilian in the way. They couldn't see from their vantage point, but there was one more hostage. Edwards wanted me to do it anyway. I told him to go fuck himself."

"What did you do instead?" Phil prompts.

"I changed positions," Clint reports. "Gave away my position but got the target. Took an extra twenty minutes to get to the extraction point, but I did it."

"Let me ask you," Phil says. "Did you do that for the sheer joy of not following orders?"

Clint looks offended. "I did it because I had to."

"That's not bratting," Phil tells him. "That's making an alternate field decision based on information not available to your handler. If you hadn't needed to, you wouldn't have done it."

"I may have told him to go fuck himself in so many words," Clint admits.

"At what point, Barton, did I imply that you were not a smartass?" Phil says, and Clint snorts. "You want to mouth off, you can. I can pretend to be as mad about that as you want. You can also keep quiet, if that's what you want. I can go either way."

"I thought you were supposed to make all the decisions," Clint says.

"I made the decision to take care of you," Phil says sincerely. "That supersedes everything else."

Clint licks his lips. "We fuck now, right?"

Phil gives him a half-smile. "What kind of a girl do you take me for, Barton?"

"Look," Clint says. "I don't know what else to do in this situation but fuck or pick a fight."

"You don't have to do either of those things if it's not what you want," Phil tells him. "I can fuck the living hell out of you, or I can beat you until you can't sit down. But I can give you other options too. However this happens, I _am_ going to bring you down. It's how, not if."

"This is a lot of goddamn talking and not a lot of action," Clint says, exasperated. "I'm not here for a fucking how-to seminar, Coulson, I-"

He breaks off, gasping as Phil takes a handful of his hair, yanking hard on it. "You're here because you need something from me. You'll get it on my terms, not yours."

"Yes, sir," Clint says, a little more meekly than Phil expected; that's one to file away.

"Better." Phil uses his grip on Clint's hair to push him down, pressing until Clint's face is resting on the floor, his forehead touching the scratchy gray carpet. "Stay down," he says, and he doesn't give Clint a choice but to obey, not letting go.

Clint struggles a little at first, but Phil knows token resistance when he sees it. He just holds on tighter, keeping Clint prostrate, forcing him to stay still. Phil has to keep him there for a long time, but it works; Clint's breathing levels out, his shoulders rising and falling evenly as he relaxes.

Phil finally lets him go, and Clint carefully sits up, rubbing at the red spot on his forehead. "So," he says. "Guess I learned something new about myself today."

Phil runs his fingers through Clint's hair, and Clint's eyes drift shut. "A world of wonders awaits," he says, and Clint shakes his head, amused. "This is an honest question: do you want to go back to work, or do you want to take the afternoon off and come home with me?" Clint looks away. "I'm giving you the choice right now. If you feel like you need more time to decide, it's not going to offend me. But you need to understand that under my roof, it's my rules. I might take you home and fuck you. I might make you clean the house. You won't get many options."

"I get a word, right?" Clint asks. "I can- you'll let me stop."

"Of course you do," Phil says. "The instant you feel like it's too much or it's headed in a direction you don't want it to go, then you can stop. No matter what, I'll always respect that. I respect you. If I didn't, I wouldn't spend my time on you."

Clint nods firmly. "Take me home."

Phil stands, motioning Clint up. "Do you need anything from your locker?"

"Let me grab some clothes," Clint says, standing.

"Meet me at motor pool," Phil instructs. "Think about your word. Something you wouldn't say normally in this situation but that you can remember. Something that sticks in your mind. Two or three syllables."

Clint doesn't speak for a moment. "Bowstring," he says.

"Say it and this stops," Phil promises.

"Got it," Clint says, but he still looks nervous.

"Get your things," Phil tells him. "We have places to be."

\--

"This isn't exactly what I expected," Clint says, when Phil opens the door to the diner for him.

"When's the last time you had a decent meal?" Phil asks.

Clint gives him a shifty look. "Y'know, sometime."

"Uh huh," Phil says. "Food it is."

Clint must be feeling at least a little better, because he inhales his food. He doesn't eat when he's stressed or tense, and it drives Phil crazy sometimes. It's occasionally included missions; his aim never wavers even when he's shaking from hunger, but there have been times that Phil has had to personally put food into his hands and refuse to leave until he ate it.

Warning signs.

Clint pushes his plate away, nothing left on it but a piece of lettuce and the toothpick that held his burger together. "What now?"

Phil puts a few bills down on top of the check, sliding out of the booth. "Now we're going home." He tosses Clint the keys. "You're driving."

Clint smiles smugly. "Sir, yes sir."

When they reach Phil's apartment, Phil leads him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. "Strip," Phil orders, and Clint stops, suddenly hesitant. "Clint, I've seen you naked about a dozen times."

"It's just a little different," Clint says.

"Granted," Phil says. "But you're going to do it anyway."

Clint looks at him warily, but he reaches down and unties his boots, tugging them off. He watches as Phil pushes back the shower curtain and turns on the faucet on the bathtub, fiddling with the knob until the temperature is right. 

"In," he tells Clint, once he's naked, and Clint does it, though he's still eyeing Phil suspiciously. The tub fills up around him, and Phil turns off the tap. 

Clint is about to reach for the soap when he stops. "What am I doing here, exactly?"

There's just enough room for him to sit on the ledge of the tub behind Clint. "Taking a bath," he says. "Pretty sure you're familiar with how to do that. Dunk your head." Clint puts his fingers over his ears and does it, and Phil picks up the shampoo. He pours a little in his hand, setting the bottle back down before working it into Clint's hair, the soft vaguely-apple scent of it drifting up as he lathers it up. Clint relaxes underneath his fingers, sighing as Phil massages his scalp. Phil keeps it up for a good long time, as long as it takes to get Clint pliant and calm. "Rinse," he says softly, and Clint dips his head under the water again. He picks up the soap without prompting, running it along his neck, his shoulders, methodically washing himself all the way down to his toes.

Phil puts a hand on the back of his neck, and Clint leans into his touch. "Feeling better?"

Clint smirks. "Feeling pretty fine, boss."

"Good," he says, reaching over and letting the water out. He takes a towel off the rack, handing it to Clint when Clint stands up; Clint scrubs it through his hair before wrapping it around his midsection, apparently no longer concerned about being naked. "Come with me," Phil tells him, and Clint follows him into the bedroom. 

Phil's bedroom says clearly that he's not expecting visitors, but the sheets are fresh and the laundry is mostly where it should be, so he's not overly concerned. Clint looks around, and Phil can see the wheels turning in his head, the way he scans for threats and opportunities. "Lose the towel and get into bed," Phil says, and Clint gives him a dirty grin before he does it, pushing back the covers and sprawling out. "Now go to sleep."

Clint sits up, giving him a shocked look. "What do you mean, sleep?"

"I mean that you need a nap," he says. "Go to sleep."

"This isn't what I signed up for," Clint says unhappily.

"You signed up to do whatever I wanted," Phil says firmly. "I want you to take a nap. You're not getting up until I'm satisfied."

"I didn't come to be mothered," Clint tells him.

"Would it be so bad if somebody spoiled you for a little while?" Phil says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You're a mess, Clint. You know how to take care of yourself. I'm not questioning that. But you've never known how to do anything above the bare minimum to keep yourself running. If you're sticking with me, you're going to do a little better than that." Phil smirks. "I'm very careful with my things."

Clint takes a long look at him. "Will you at least come and lay down with me?"

"If I think you're coming on to me, you're still taking a nap, but you're sleeping on the floor," Phil warns him, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Understood, sir," Clint says, probably because he knows it's doubtful that Phil is kidding.

Phil strips down to his undershirt and boxers, climbing into bed beside Clint, turning them so that Clint's back is pressed against his front. "You are getting very sleepy," he says, and Clint laughs, getting closer. Phil knows Clint well enough to know that he'll try at least something, to call Phil's bluff if nothing else; or rather, Clint would, except that in five minutes he's out, snoring softly in Phil's arms. Phil settles his face into Clint's damp hair, breathing in his scent as he drifts off to sleep.

\--

It's after dark when Phil wakes up. Clint is still out cold, but he grabs Phil's arm when he tries to move, blinking awake. "Hey," Clint says muzzily, turning and blinking at him.

"Hey," Phil says, leaning in to kiss him. Clint opens right up for him, like he's always been doing it, like this is the thousandth kiss and not the first. It's no time at all before the kiss turns hot; Phil puts his hands on Clint's shoulders, pinning him to the mattress. Clint makes a noise, relaxing under it, letting him have what he wants. Phil's not under the delusion that this kind of thing is magical or predestined or effortless, but right now it seems like they were made to do this.

"Fuck me," Clint says quietly.

"I'll do it when I want," Phil tells him. "Whenever I want."

Clint bites his lip. "C'mon," he says. "Don't make me beg for it."

"Why would I bother making you beg?" Phil says. "Begging just implies that you influence what happens, and we both know that's not true."

"That doesn't mean I can't help my case," Clint says. "I can be very persuasive. You have no idea how much."

Phil smiles. "Clint, shut up."

Clint kisses him again. "Yes, sir."

Phil lays back, putting his arms behind his head. "You're going to do all the work," Phil tells him. "You're going to show me how much you want it."

Clint's about to smart off, Phil can see it, but he catches himself in time, kissing Phil instead, reaching down and pushing Phil's boxers out of the way. He's not quite hard yet, and Clint sets about to fixing that, putting his hand around Phil's cock and stroking it, nice and slow. Phil laces a hand through Clint's hair, tugging on it as they kiss, wet, hungry.

"Stuff's in the nightstand," Phil says, letting him go, and Clint breaks away, turning and rummaging through it a condom and lube. He pulls Phil's boxers down and off, tossing them blindly away. Phil watches as he kneels between Phil's legs, raising up so that he can press his fingers inside himself, sighing. He can only see the way his arm moves, the expression on his face, but it's almost as good as seeing the whole thing.

Almost.

"That's enough," Phil says. Clint doesn't look like he wants to stop, but he does it anyway. He snags the condom and opens it, putting it over Phil's cock. He gets a mischievous look on his face; he leans down and unrolls the condom with his mouth, taking an impressive amount of Phil's cock before pulling away. "Show-off," Phil says, but he smiles. "Come on, stop stalling."

Clint gets into position, straddling him; he takes Phil's dick into his hand, guiding it inside of him. He makes a face. "You okay?" Phil asks.

"Just been a while," he says, voice a little strained.

"Take it slow. Don't hurt yourself." Phil smirks. "You're going to be doing it for a good long time, so you'd better not wear yourself out all at once." Clint slowly sinks down, exhaling when he's finally all the way there, his ass against Phil's hips. Phil strokes his thigh, feeling the tension in it; he gives Clint a moment to get it together, relaxing some, spreading his legs farther so that he can get Phil even deeper inside of him. "Ride me," Phil says, and Clint nods, moving slowly at first, rocking back and forth until he gets the hang of it, his hips rolling as he goes faster and faster.

Clint looks gorgeous, his body moving so smoothly, the way the light hits the long line of his neck when he throws his head back. If there are scars Phil doesn't even notice them, too caught up in _seeing_ him to worry about any imperfection at all. Clint doesn't let up, going for it with everything he's got, giving Phil the best he's got. He's so good; he's going to be so good for Phil, and he doesn't even know it yet.

"I can't," Clint says, his voice coming out as a whine. "I'm gonna come if I don't stop, please-"

"Keep going," Phil tells him, wrapping a hand around Clint's cock. "Come for me."

"Yes, sir," Clint gasps, and he barely has enough time to draw another breath before he does it, painting Phil's chest with his come.

"On your back," Phil says quickly, and Clint doesn't protest, going. Phil pauses to pull off the condom, tossing it into the wastebasket before straddling Clint's face. "Open your mouth."

Clint looks a little scandalized, but he does it, shutting his eyes, and he looks so amazing that Phil can't help himself, coming with a groan all over Clint's face, marking him up. Clint, wonderful Clint, damn his eyes, licks his lips, smiling. Phil climbs off him, kissing him, not caring that he ends up with come on his face too.

Clint wipes his face off with a corner of the bedsheet, which is wrecked anyway, so no harm no foul. Upon consideration, Phil takes it too, wiping himself down and vowing to get a towel to keep in here. Clint turns, all but sprawling out over Phil, an arm and a leg thrown over him, keeping him close. "If that's what I get when you order me around, then sign my ass up," he says, pressing his face into Phil's shoulder.

"I need you to understand something," Phil says, and Clint looks up at him. "This isn't a sometime thing, and it isn't always going to be sweet and simple. When you feel like you need somebody, you come to me, and I'll be there. But I'll take you whenever I want you to, and the only choice you get is yes or no."

Clint nods, looking serious. "I think that's what I want."

"When you're not sure, stop me," Phil says. "You can always stop me whenever you want."

"You make it sound like I have the deciding vote," Clint says.

"You do," Phil says. "The trick of it is learning how to keep from using it."

"I'll see what I can do," Clint tells him. "No promises."

Phil smiles. "God forbid," he says, and Clint punches him in the arm.


End file.
